the last supper

the last supper Mrs Linton, on the third day, unbarred her door, and having finished the water in her pitcher and decanter, desired a renewed supply, and a basin of gruel, for she believed she was dying. That I set down as a speech meant for Edgar's ears; I believed no such thing, so I kept it to myself and brought her some tea and dry toast. She ate and drank eagerly; and sank back on her pillow again clenching her hands and groaning. `Oh, I will die,' she exclaimed, `since no one cares anything about me. I wish I had not taken that.' Then a good while after I heard her murmur, `No, I'll not die--he'd be glad--he does not love me at all--he would never miss me!'
`Did you want anything, ma'am?' I inquired, still preserving my external composure, in spite of her ghastly countenance, and strange exaggerated manner.
the last supper
What is that apathetic being doing?' she demanded, pushing her thick entangled locks from her wasted face. `Has he fallen into a lethargy, or is he dead?'
`Neither,' replied I; `if you mean Mr Linton. He's tolerably well, I think, though his studies occupy him rather more than they ought: he is continually among his books, since he has no other society.'
I should not have spoken so, if I had known her true condition, but I could not get rid of the notion that she acted a part of her disorder.
the last supper